


The Three Curses

by potentiality_26



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Animal Transformation, Asexual Anne, Background Anne/Tréville, Background Femslash, Background Fleur/Ninon, Canon-Typical Violence, Curses, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Het and Slash, M/M, Magic, Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:39:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiality_26/pseuds/potentiality_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“And then they lived happily ever after,” Constance said.  “That was how the storyteller ended it, right?”  </i>
</p><p><i>D’Artagnan hardly remembered the storyteller now.  He and Constance had been little more than children then- hungry, lost, and desperate enough to make a little coin that they had sold the tale of how they had escaped from the witch who had kidnapped them both to a storyteller for the price of dinner.  They had consequently lost all rights, in perpetuity, to tell anyone the tale.  This had left them to lamely answer- whenever someone asked them how they knew so much about witches, warlocks, and monsters- ‘… because?’  Constance was morally opposed to paying money to watch someone who wasn’t even there tell their story, but they had seen his show once.  As d’Artagnan recalled, he had ended it with that very line.</i> </p><p>D'Artagnan and Constance are renowned witch and monster hunters who are commissioned to rescue a queen and find themselves in the midst of something much more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was sort of inspired by _Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters_, but really has nothing to do with it. Seriously, I haven't seen the movie. Beyond that, it's got a lot of ideas from fairy tales (and ideas that seem like they should be from fairy tales), but it's not based on any one in particular.

D’Artagnan prodded the pile of sticks he had been attempting to convince to catch alight for the last five minutes. It had been raining in a steady but unenthusiastic stream all day, but though the sky was clearing now, everything was soaked.

To d’Artagnan’s left, the remains of a crypt smoldered. It had been struck by lightning and had exploded, turning the witch who was working her evil magicks from within to ash. Nothing had proved quite so combustible since, and d’Artagnan was mere moments from resigning himself to remaining wet and cold for the rest of the evening.

To d’Artagnan’s right, Constance was wringing water out of her skirts and he turned her. “Do you- oh.”    

Constance was gazing off into the distance, and d’Artagnan could tell that she was in a mood. She had something to say and was working up to it; until then, there would be no conversation of any kind. Thus he sat silently, dripped, and waited.

“And then they lived happily ever after,” Constance said. “That was how the storyteller ended it, right?”

D’Artagnan hardly remembered the storyteller now. He and Constance had been little more than children then- hungry, lost, and desperate enough to make a little coin that they had sold the tale of how they had escaped from the witch who had kidnapped them both to a storyteller for the price of dinner. They had consequently lost all rights, in perpetuity, to tell anyone the tale. This had left them to lamely answer- whenever someone asked them how they knew so much about witches, warlocks, and monsters- ‘… because?’ Constance was morally opposed to paying money to watch someone who wasn’t even there tell their story, but they had seen his show once. As d’Artagnan recalled, he had ended it with that very line.

“Yes,” he said.  

“Do you ever think that you and I could be… well, doing just a little bit more living happily ever after?” Witch hunting, curse breaking, and related activities could be a lucrative line of work, even for two people who were legally barred from explaining just how they had gotten into it in the first place. Constance had calculated, once, that they had the funds to buy a little farm and settle down several times over by now. More, probably, if d’Artagnan could only remember where he’d stowed that goblin gold.

“I suppose so,” d’Artagnan said. He looked at Constance, wet and a bit singed, with her arms crossed protectively over her chest, and felt miserable. This wasn’t exactly the life he wanted to give the girl he had been in love with since boyhood but had never quite managed to tell as much. “But what about… you know… them?” He pointed with his sodden stick to the bundle between them and the still-smoking crypt. The bundle had been weeping continuously for some time.

“Right,” Constance huffed.

The bundle was, in fact, the noblewoman they had come to rescue from the witch. She would most likely pull herself together and begin flirting with one of them soon- at which point they would take her home and be either handsomely rewarded or chased off by men with torches and pitchforks, depending on what kind of family they were dealing with.

“You’re right,” Constance said, more gently, and began helping d’Artagnan with his fire.

He certainly hoped he was right. He would happily buy a farm with her and settle down- he was especially fond of the idea that she would, by that time, be his wife- but though the first few times they had had battled monsters it had been out of necessity, that had ceased to be the case a long time ago. D’Artagnan remembered the weeks that they had spent waiting, praying, to be rescued before he and Constance had collectively realized that they needed to save themselves. He would never wish that progression on anyone- and he knew that Constance felt even more keenly that they had a duty to help where they could. D’Artagnan did this for her, really; he knew she would never be able to sleep at night, knowing she could protect innocent people but had chosen not to for her own comfort.

As d’Artagnan’s pile of sticks began, grudgingly, to burn with the help of a little magic powder, Constance sat down beside him and produced a wrinkled map.

“So,” she asked. “Where are we going next?”

*   *   *

Next, they went to the capital city.

The noblewoman- who was called Charlotte- had a doting father who had turned out to be the ‘reward handsomely’ type. He had encouraged d’Artagnan and Constance to be guests in their house for exactly as long as the two of them had been able to bear it.  When they finally insisted that they really did have to leave, he and his daughter sent d’Artagnan and Constance to the capital with a promissory note, and a certain banker had showered them in gold and jewels forthwith.  

D’Artagnan wasn’t the greedy sort, but he had to admit that it was nice to be rich. It was nice- at the very least- to treat the penny-pinching partner in his enterprise to an inn with clean sheets and a passable dinner, and d’Artagnan proceeded to do exactly that.

Which, with his luck, was precisely when things began to go spectacularly wrong.

*   *   *

“Someone is watching us,” d’Artagnan remarked to Constance over the bowl of stew the innkeeper had supplied him with. “I can feel it.”

Constance, putting down her spoon, nodded her head toward the back corner of the room. As surreptitiously as he could, d’Artagnan glanced that way. There was a man dressed all in black sitting alone but for a flagon of wine and a cup. He seemed quite drunk- and silently, maudlinly so at that. He didn’t seem to be watching them at all at first, and d’Artagnan was amazed that Constance had spotted it at all- but Constance had always been the better observer. On further inspection, it was clear that the man had actually made very little headway into the bottle of wine, and was drinking for appearances sake more than anything. And he did occasionally slip his eyes- very casually- over them, but it was neither telling nor obvious.

“What do you think he wants?” d’Artagnan asked.

“I don’t recognize him,” Constance said. “But that doesn’t necessarily preclude us having slain a relative of his or the like.”

“He doesn’t look like a witch’s cousin.”

Constance rolled her eyes. “What do witch’s cousins look like?”

D’Artagnan shrugged at that. He spooned the last of his stew into his mouth and considered his options. There were only a few other people in the inn, most of them were drunk, and there was no way to know if their presence would constitute much of a deterrent, should the man in black take it into his head to remove them from this existence. “Do you sense magic about him?” D’Artagnan asked. Constance had better instincts for these things than he did.

Constance bit her lip. They were still trying to be subtle- Constance was better at that, too- and she wouldn’t have as good of a sense as she might if she’d been able to look right at the man. “Yes,” she said at last. “And it’s strong.” She sat back. “That doesn’t mean he’s evil.”

“I know,” d’Artagnan replied, standing. “I’d just prefer not to find out that he is when he tries to kill us, is all.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Talk to him,” he answered. “It’ll be all right,” he added when she looked skeptical.

D’Artagnan crossed the room. He pulled out one of the unoccupied chairs at the man in black’s table, turned it around, and sat, crossing his arms over the back. “So,” he said. “You’ve been watching my friend and me all night, and I don’t think it’s because I’m so gorgeous.”

The man in black’s somewhat crooked mouth quirked and he looked, if anything, amused. He gave no answer, however; only seconds after he’d looked at d’Artagnan his gaze slid to the door and remained fixed there.

Though he had a feeling he’d regret it, d’Artagnan turned to look.

Three men in the blue and silver uniforms of the king’s personal guards stood in the doorway, and they made straight for Constance.

“Miss,” one of them said. “The king requests your presence.” He made the mistake of clamping a hand on Constance’s shoulder and hauling her up. Constance stamped on his foot and plowed the flat of her palm into his nose, sending him reeling. His companions stood in shock for a few moments, which was all Constance needed.

D’Artagnan had always favored the sword- but Constance preferred throwing knives, and she always had a least a dozen stowed about her person at all times. With a flick of both wrists, one slid into each hand. Constance threw one and it caught the sleeve of the second guard, pinning him to the table. As he struggled to free himself, she advanced on the third, blade at the ready.

It was then that d’Artagnan did indeed regret turning his back on the man in black.

He felt fingers clench around his shoulder and pull him up- and then he felt the cold steel of a dagger at his throat. He half turned and met very cold, very dangerous blue eyes.

The man raised an eyebrow and brought the dagger closer to d’Artagnan’s neck. He didn’t quite draw blood, but the threat was very clear, and d’Artagnan said, “Constance,” in strangled tone before he could stop himself.

Constance wheeled around, met the eyes of the man holding d’Artagnan, and dropped her knife.

The man pinned to the table freed himself, and he and his companion took Constance by the elbows and marched her toward the door. The man Constance had struck first was bleeding profusely from his nose. He wiped it on his sleeve and crossed to d’Artagnan. The man in black stepped away, sheathed his dagger, and drained the contents of his wine glass.   The guard grabbed d’Artagnan by the hair and took him toward the door as well.

“I fully expect my money back,” d’Artagnan said.

Again, he could have sworn that the man in black smirked.

There was a man, also in a blue and silver guardsman’s uniform- though the stripes on his shoulders proclaimed him to be their captain- waiting when the guards brought d’Artagnan outside. His eyes had been raking over Constance curiously, but when they brought d’Artagnan out he turned his attention to him.

D’Artagnan stopped. The man was much older now and he had a new scar across his face, but d’Artagnan would know Lebarge- the man who had killed his family- anywhere. For a moment, he and Lebarge stared at each other. Judging by Lebarge’s look, the recognition did not go both ways, but d’Artagnan had been just a boy then, and anyway he didn’t care if Lebarge recognized him. He didn’t care if Lebarge knew why he was about to die.

D’Artagnan elbowed the guard holding him in the face. Already injured, the guard cried out and crumpled to the ground. D’Artagnan took his sword, pointing it at Lebarge’s throat.  

“Oh no,” Constance said.

Even with the third guard out of commission, d’Artagnan and Constance were still outnumbered two to one. Lebarge didn’t have to fight, but as d’Artagnan recalled the man had never been able to step back from a challenge. He was counting on that now.

The two remaining guards stepped forward, but Lebarge waved them off and- grinning- drew his own sword.    

The cobbled street was empty of passerby, and so this impromptu duel had no onlookers but for the guards and Constance. D’Artagnan could feel the disapproval in her gaze as he and Lebarge sized each other up, but he ignored it. He could only hope that when he had the opportunity to explain- preferably over Lebarge’s dead body- she would understand.

D’Artagnan attacked. Lebarge batted his sword aside and then answered with his own attack. Lebarge was, d’Artagnan learned in the following exchange of cuts and parries, neither especially quick nor overly skilled- but he was able to make up for both with brute strength. D’Artagnan would have said that Lebarge’s overconfidence in that regard would spell his downfall, except that it began to seem that said confidence was entirely warranted. D’Artagnan used everything he had ever learned about sword-play to push Lebarge down the street, yet he showed no sign of weakening or tiring- while d’Artagnan himself was soon out of breath and exhausted.

There was something else also working in Lebarge’s favor that d’Artagnan really ought to have seen coming: he cheated.

D’Artagnan backed Lebarge into an alley, and that was when he ducked a cut to his head and- from that low position- kicked hard at d’Artagnan’s knee. While d’Artagnan was reeling, Lebarge knocked his sword clean out of his hand and then pushed d’Artagnan completely to the ground.   He then raised his arm to deliver what would undoubtedly be a killing blow. D’Artagnan closed his eyes and thought about Constance, but the blow never fell. He opened his eyes and saw Lebarge frozen in place by sword held against his neck.

D’Artagnan’s gaze slid along the blade and up an arm to the man in black’s face- pale and gaunt and scruffily bearded. Lebarge looked at the man in black too, out of the corner of his eye, and his grip on the hilt of sword tightened. Evidently he was considering whether he was willing to cross swords with the man over the pleasure of killing d’Artagnan. From the way the man in black’s eyes crinkled, he knew it too- and it amused him. The man in black raised a brow. _Shall we?_

Actual fear, of all things, crossed Lebarge’s face, and he put up his sword. Lebarge snapped in the air. “Take him,” he said. “He and his companion are to be brought before the king.”

Two guardsmen picked d’Artagnan up by the arms and begun hauling him down the street.  

Craning his neck, d’Artagnan looked behind to where the man in black and Lebarge still stood. The man in black had put up his sword as well, but Lebarge continued glaring at him- angry, most likely, to have had his authority undermined in any way. The man in black looked back, silently.

Lebarge blinked first.

*   *   *

D’Artagnan and Constance had rescued their share of foreign princes and princesses in their travels- witches and monsters alike seemed to have a taste for royal blood- but they had never set eyes on their own king before.

He didn’t look like d’Artagnan had thought he would. He was a relatively young man, with dark and somewhat stringy hair. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was pale and gaunt. It was clear to d’Artagnan that this was not a happy king. He glanced at Constance to see what she thought and saw that her attention was not on the king at all, but rather on the man who stood behind the king’s throne. This man had on red robes, and d’Artagnan didn’t have to have especially good instincts to know that this man had _magic_.

That wasn’t too unusual, however- most kings had a magician advising them.

What struck d’Artagnan as more unusual was how empty the throne room was. Usually kings had dozens of advisors and courtiers hanging on their every word. This one merely sat on his throne in this cavernously empty room, with his red-robed advisor, and dictated, it seemed, to no one at all. Very strange indeed.  

“I have heard,” the king said, “that the two of you are the greatest witch hunters that our realm has to offer.”

“Witches and… other things,” d’Artagnan agreed. ‘Witch hunter’ was what had stuck, a fact that had always bothered d’Artagnan- especially since the story of their first witch was one they were never permitted to tell.

“Would other things include dragons?”

Constance answered first, ducking her head. “Yes, your majesty.”

“No, your majesty,” d’Artagnan said a moment later. He knew this kind of opening when he heard it. The king wanted them to slay a dragon for him, when he had perfectly good guardsman at his disposal to do the job- and any king who kept Lebarge as the captain of his guards would get no favors from d’Artagnan.

“Which is it?” the king asked, blinking.

“We choose our… clients with care,” d’Artagnan said. It was technically a lie- but not too much of one in his opinion. He glared at Lebarge.

The man in the red robes leaned close to the king and whispered something. “Ah,” the king said. “I gather you had a… run in with the captain of my guards.”

“This has become a matter of honor,” d’Artagnan said.

“What my partner means is that this has become a matter of money,” Constance said. Her eyes were fixed on the king, but it was clear that she wasn’t at all happy with d’Artagnan.

“Well, naturally you’ll have your pick of the many treasures in the dragon’s stores,” the king told them, evidently happy to be back in familiar territory. “I’m glad it’s a question of money- otherwise I’d have had to have to one of you executed.”

D’Artagnan’s gut lurched, and he took Constance’s out. “I’m sure that will… satisfy the honor question,” he said.

The king beamed. “That’s settled, then.”

Constance bowed her head. “Tell us about the dragon.”

“The beast has been terrorizing my kingdom for five years, and every attempt to bring it down has failed. It lives in an abandoned keep inside the mountain on the other side of the enchanted forest, and once month it comes out and burns farms and even entire villages to the ground, killing people and livestock in droves.”

“Have you attempted to reason with it?” Constance asked.

“For years it seemed there was no possibility of doing so,” the king told them. “Until three months ago- when it came to my city and offered to cease its attacks and leave my kingdom in peace for good.”

“If that’s the case, what do you need us for?” d’Artagnan asked.

“The dragon offered a bargain. In return for the… kindness… of leaving my people be, it would take my queen.”

“You gave the dragon your wife?” Constance looked horrified.

The king nodded unhappily. The state of him was beginning to make a little more sense. “I would have you kill the beast and bring my queen back to me.”

D’Artagnan didn’t care for the proposition. The dragon had given terms, the king had agreed to them, and now he wanted d’Artagnan and Constance to break his word for him. “I don’t-” Constance stamped on d’Artagnan’s foot. “I don’t see any problem with that.”

“Good,” the king said, and paused. “Go to it, then.”

D’Artagnan bowed and turned away. Constance walked toward the door and he limped along behind her.

“Ah- I’d almost forgotten. One more thing.”

“Yes?” d’Artagnan asked, turning back.

“You will take one of my men with you.” The king snapped. “Athos?”

The man in black appeared at the king’s side. He leaned close to the king, who whispered in his ear. Whatever the king was saying didn’t make the man in black very happy. His lips flattened into a line, and his face turned pale and actually a little green- but he nodded and crossed the room to take his place beside d’Artagnan and Constance.

All three of them waited.

The king looked at them with a disconcerted mix of hostility and confusion. “What now?” he asked.  

The man in the red cloak leaned close again, whispering something to the king.

“Oh yes,” the king said. He waved regally. “You may go.”

*   *   *

In the courtyard, they were supplied with good horses and sent on their way without another word from anyone.

Their new companion- Athos- did not say a single word to them as they rode out of the city. He had an impassive sort of face, handsome but scruffy, and weary eyes.  He showed no interest in either Constance or d’Artagnan, or the various people on the street- ranging from beggars to merchants- who attempted to ask him, as a guardsman, if he could carry a message to the king. Indeed, the only time that d’Artagnan saw any expression but vague amusement cross his face at all was when they rode through the city gates and onto the king’s road. D’Artagnan wasn’t quite sure what the look on his face was- he knew only that Athos’ eyes widened and his hands clenched around his reins.

Whatever his reaction meant, Athos did not see fit to share it with them. D’Artagnan accepted their companion’s disinclination to talk as they travelled, and so they began their journey toward the enchanted forest in silence.

It was just as well, for there was much to see on the sides of the road.

D’Artagnan had thought, riding through the city, that it looked awfully good for a kingdom that was being terrorized by a dragon. But once they passed through the city gates and into farmland, d’Artagnan became to rethink his assessment. Fields and houses were reduced to ashes. D’Artagnan had no doubt that it would cost a fortune in taxes for the king to even begin rebuilding what had been lost.

Constance steered her mount close to d’Artagnan. “Does the damage strike you as odd?”

That was Constance’s thoughtful tone. The tone that meant that she’d noticed something, and that the right answer was, “Yes?”

D’Artagnan was technically lying. He had no idea what Constance was talking about, and from the way she rolled her eyes at his answer, Constance knew it. “Look closer,” she instructed.

He obeyed, and the longer they rode the more he understood what she was trying to tell him. There was indeed something odd about the damage. It was very haphazard. Yes, he saw fields and homes and- eventually- entire villages that had been razed to the ground, but others were perfectly intact, and were indeed prospering. Here was a farmer with a verdant field being grazed on by a herd of well-fed cattle. There was another farmer with a field of golden wheat. “Not exactly usual behavior for a dragon,” d’Artagnan remarked, though he supposed that it might be a question of mere chance.

“No,” Constance agreed.

D’Artagnan glanced at Athos, who rode in continuing silence a little ways behind them. If there was more to the story of the dragon than the king had led them to believe, the king’s man might not like hearing them talk about it.

Athos was indeed watching them- but he looked, if anything, as if he agreed with their assessment and was pleased that they had noticed the same things he had.

Strange indeed.

*   *   *

Despite the reasonably lucrative nature of witch-hunting as a profession, d’Artagnan knew that he and Constance had a look about them more like travelling beggars than people with anything worth stealing. They were, as a result, rarely attacked by brigands or thieves. Athos looked like he might be a bit more of a worthy mark- his blade itself probably cost a fortune- but he also looked like he could do a great deal of damage to anyone who tried to take it.

Thus, d’Artagnan was surprised when- once they were a good distance from the city and on the long stretch of road between villages- they were attacked by robbers.

They were outnumbered, but- the embarrassing incident with Lebarge aside- d’Artagnan really was an excellent swordsman and he and Constance had experience fighting groups in the form of the demon hordes witches were sometimes capable of summoning to do battle against anyone who came after them.

Nevertheless, things were pure chaos for the first few moments of the battle.

Between his own attackers, d’Artagnan did have a chance to notice how Athos fought, and to realize that Lebarge had had every reason to back down from the man. He fought like someone who thought about nothing but the battle at hand- and had absolutely nothing to lose. Indeed, d’Artagnan would have considered his behavior careless if he didn’t triumph against every man who came against him, even when there were two or three or even four at once.  

D’Artagnan concluded that Athos was taking good care of himself, and so turned his attention more to his own surroundings. It was then that he noticed a figure in a dark cloak lingering on the hill above them. He squinted, trying to make out a face or some other identifying feature. While he was so distracted, one of their attackers crept up behind him with an ax raised, and would likely have killed d’Artagnan had a knife not plunged into the man’s chest and sent him staggering to the ground.

D’Artagnan turned to look at his savior, fully expecting it to be Constance- but he found her occupied dispatching two other men. The knife was Constance’s- but Athos had taken it from one of the men she had already killed and thrown it himself.

The tide of the battle turned quickly after that. The remaining brigands ran away, presumably to search for easier targets.    

“You saved my life,” d’Artagnan said to Athos.

“You almost died,” Constance said to d’Artagnan. “You idiot!” She strode over to him and hauled him toward her. From the way her eyes were flashing, d’Artagnan expected to be slapped across the face, and he thought to himself how unfortunate it was that he thought she was so beautiful when she was about to hurt him. Instead, she kissed him full on the mouth, and then flounced away with a final huff.

“That was unexpected,” d’Artagnan said.

Athos raised his eyebrows. His expression was one d’Artagnan understood to mean, ‘You are a fool and I cannot believe I’ve been ordered to help you.’

*   *   *

After kissing d’Artagnan, Constance rode on and didn’t say another word to him. All d’Artagnan could do was follow along, and hope someone explained to him what had just happened. Around dusk, Constance found a clearing in the trees off the road that she seemed to consider a satisfactory campsite. She tied her horse and removed her saddle and then tossed her head at d’Artagnan and went into the trees, again without saying word.

Constance was too smart to go far when they’d already been attacked once, so d’Artagnan figured that he would be safe to leave her for a moment to talk to Athos. The fact that he wasn’t quite ready to face her yet had nothing to do with it. “I meant what I said before,” he said to Athos. “I owe you my life.”

Athos shrugged.

D’Artagnan watched him for a moment, picking up all the tiny nuances of his expression. Athos was… hard to read, at best, but d’Artagnan was beginning to learn, in his silence, to see more in his face than he did in anyone but Constance- and he had known Constance for years, and Athos for less than a day. Something in the way Athos watched him was decidedly pained. “It’s not that you choose not to speak, is it? You actually _can’t_ speak, yes?”

Slowly, Athos nodded.

“Is it a curse?”

Athos nodded again.

“Maybe Constance and I can help you with that,” d’Artagnan said. He might not have known Athos very well- or at all- but he had come to respect him in a way, and of course he also now owed him a great debt. “We’re pretty good at that sort of thing.”

Athos looked surprisingly fond, but sad, and he simply clapped d’Artagnan on the shoulder and turned away from him.

D’Artagnan gripped him by the sleeve. “Really, Athos,” he said. “If there’s ever anything you need.”

If anything, Athos’ eyes darkened further. He broke away and settled on a stump near the edge of their makeshift camp. He set about cleaning and oiling his weaponry in silence. D’Artagnan watched him for a few moments- until Athos caught his eye and nodded significantly in the direction Constance had gone.

Though he had no earthly idea what he would say to her, d’Artagnan followed her path.

Constance had indeed not gone far. She was resting one arm against a tree. Her other hand lay against her stomach as if she was trying to hold herself in. A twig cracked under d’Artagnan’s shoe and she wheeled around.

“Do you know what would happen to me if you died?” she demanded.

“You’d get a smarter partner?” he tried.

“Don’t joke with me when I’m angry,” Constance snapped, but softened slightly. Her eyes shone. “The truth is, I don’t know what I’d do.” She took a step toward him. “I don’t want another partner, d’Artagnan. You’re an idiot, but you’re my idiot and I love you.”

The fact that Constance looked like she was going to cry made it easier for d’Artagnan to say words that he had been biting his tongue around for years. “I love you too, Constance.”

She looked up at the sky like he was being an idiot again.

“I do,” d’Artagnan said. “You are the bravest, smartest, most beautiful person I’ve ever known.” He closed the distance between them and pressed his forehead against hers. “And I love you so, so much.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up with actual hopeful surprise.

D’Artagnan couldn’t believe she’d doubted it. It didn’t take much to touch his lips to hers, and she sighed and then kissed him back, clinging to him like he was a rock and she had been drowning. D’Artagnan couldn’t believe that, either.

When Constance finally drew away, her smile was small but her eyes were beaming. D’Artagnan wasn’t sure he’d ever made anyone that happy before, but he knew that he didn’t want to stop. “Go get some firewood,” Constance instructed. “I’ll set up the camp with Athos.”

D’Artagnan nodded, stunned.

She smacked him on the arm, playfully, and then kissed him again. “And be careful,” she said, mouth still close to his. “I told you- I don’t want another partner.”  

“I’ll be careful,” he said. “I promise.”

“You better,” she replied, and looked like she was going to cry again. She bustled back to the clearing without another word.  

*   *   *

By the time d’Artagnan came back from collecting firewood, Athos and Constance had already finished setting up camp and were talking quietly to each other. Or, rather, Athos was miming silently and Constance was whispering to him and giggling occasionally. D’Artagnan hung by the edge and stared. Constance did _not_ giggle.

She looked up, eyes crinkling with sly humor, and said, “Athos thinks that you aren’t much of a swordsman for a renowned monster hunter.”

D’Artagnan puffed himself up. “There’s few could beat me.”

“I’ll bet he could,” Constance said of Athos.

“Lebarge did,” Athos mouthed, very clearly. As if d’Artagnan could forget. As if the incident was not much in his mind. D’Artagnan ducked his head, and so didn’t see what Athos did next. He could hear a rustling that he suspected was the sound of Athos signing something, however- so he knew the guardsman had something to add.

Constance said, “Athos thinks that you have some history with Lebarge. He’s wondering what it is.” D’Artagnan made himself look up, and was able to trace movements of her throat as she swallowed. “So am I.”

With a sigh, d’Artagnan sat beside the fire with them. “I was an orphan when your father took me in and made me his apprentice.”

“Yes,” Constance said, slowly.

“Did you ever wonder how I was orphaned?” D’Artagnan didn’t wait for Constance to answer. “Lebarge used to work for the man who owned the land my father farmed. My father was meant to pay ridiculously high taxes, and eventually he couldn’t anymore. Lebarge burned down our house. I don’t think my family was meant to be inside- they weren’t going to be home that day- but… they were. All them except me.”

Constance reached out and took his hand. “I’m so sorry, d’Artagnan.”

He shrugged. “It’s just what happened. Then your father found me, gave me work and a place to stay. For a while everything was good. And then- well, you know what happened.”  

D’Artagnan had been fifteen then. Constance and her brothers had lit up his life, and for a time he had been able to forget what happened to his own family. For a time, the worst thing troubling his mind had been the sneaking certainty that he was falling in love with a wonderful girl who probably looked on him only as another brother.

And then they were snatched by a witch on their way to market one day. 

Constance gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “We should get some rest,” she said. She turned to Athos. “You’ll take the first watch?”

Athos didn’t try to spell out, 'Of course.' It was written all over his face. He returned to his previous place at the edge of their camp.

D’Artagnan lay out his bedroll next to Constance’s. She lay down beside him and kissed him repeatedly. “I’m so sorry about your family,” she said. “I don’t know why I never asked before.”

“It’s fine,” d’Artagnan replied, touching her face. He was so happy to have to have her with him like this that it was difficult for even thinking about Lebarge to trouble him. He still couldn’t believe he actually got to touch her. He couldn’t believe she wanted him to. “I just never wanted to talk about it.” In a way, though, he did feel better now that she knew.

“I’m glad you finally did,” Constance told him. “I can see now why you wanted nothing to do with King Louis and his proposition.”

“But we are saving a queen,” d’Artagnan said. “We’re always up for that, right?”

“Yes we are,” Constance agreed. She rested her head on his chest and d’Artagnan put his arm around her shoulders. “D’Artagnan,” she said. “Do you get the sense that there’s someone- or maybe something- is still following us?”

“Yeah,” he said. He was worried that one or more of the people who had attacked them hadn’t run off after all and were pursuing them. “Yeah I do. I’m sure we’ll find out what sooner or later.”

“How comforting,” Constance said, and snuggled close.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ninon sat back with a thoughtful expression, considering how to tell the tale. Fleur wrapped an arm around her waist and rested her chin against Ninon’s shoulder. “Many years ago, the king’s guards were captained by a man called Treville, who was different from Lebarge as the night is from day. He was even-tempered but brave, kind- and he brought out… wisdom in the king that none of us have seen since. Now, the men under Treville’s command were the finest soldiers in the kingdom, but there were three who considered the bravest and the best. The first was renowned as a swordsman-” here Ninon’s gaze turned to Athos- “the second a brawler” and here her eyes lingered on Porthos, “and the third was an archer, the greatest marksman in the kingdom. All was well with them when I left the capital and I don’t know what happened- but I’ve heard nothing about them in five years. All four of them might have died, for all I knew.”_

D’Artagnan woke to the hilt of a sword being dropped inches from his nose. Athos was standing over him with his own sword in his hand. D’Artagnan looked from the sword to Athos for a moment. He was beginning to think that the fastest way to figure out what the guardsman was trying to say to him was to analyze him for as long as possible before finally guessing.

“You want to give me a fencing lesson,” he said.

Athos nodded shortly.

“Give me a few minutes to get ready,” d’Artagnan sighed. Athos’ mouth twisted unhappily, but he let d’Artagnan at least splash a little water on his face before jumping in.

Athos was every bit as good a swordsman as the encounter with the brigands and the look on Lebarge’s face when Athos had challenged his authority had suggested he was. He also proved to be an excellent, if demanding, teacher. He kept d’Artagnan at it half the morning, and only allowed them to move on when Constance told them that- as much as she was enjoying the show- they really ought to get moving if they planned on ever finding the queen.

D’Artagnan had learned a great deal, however, and he didn’t think that he was likely to forget the look of dogged pleasure on Athos’ face whenever d’Artagnan, however briefly, bested him.

The next time Athos turned his back to him, d’Artagnan shook his head to himself. That was a very strange man.

*   *   *

They were on the road for perhaps an hour before they were attacked again.

“I’m beginning to think that someone doesn’t want us to get where we’re going,” d’Artagnan remarked as they all armed themselves.

“What?” Constance’s voice was sharp. “You think they’re going after us specifically?”

“I do.” D’Artagnan couldn’t quite have explained why, but Constance didn’t press him to. For one thing, they were quickly beset and she didn’t have the time. For another, she had grown as used to trusting his instincts with these things as he had with her sense of magic. Under the circumstances, though, he hoped he was wrong.

Accordingly, d’Artagnan internally vowed to keep a look out for the figure he had seen the last time they were attacked. However, this ambition was quickly forgotten in favor of simply staying alive, as there were twice as many attackers this time.      

Not long into the fighting, d’Artagnan found himself on the edge between the road and the woods, separated from his friends. The moves Athos had taught d’Artagnan served him well for a time. He fought two men at once with moderate success- until a third crept up behind him and cracked him over the head with the hilt of a sword.

D’Artagnan landed hard, and it took him several moments to recover his vision. When he did, he found himself looking at a pair of very polished boots. He saw, too, the hem of a familiar dark cloak. He craned and found that he was at the feet of the figure he had seen before- and he was able to look up into the hood to see the face beneath. He saw an uncommonly beautiful dark-haired woman.

Her mouth curved upward. “You and your friends are severely outnumbered and surrounded,” she said. “Stand down, and perhaps I’ll let you live.”

“Somehow I don’t think letting us live is the plan,” d’Artagnan said.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but she was cut off by the sound of men screaming. She stepped aside, and when d’Artagnan saw what the brigands had seen, their reactions made sense. A giant brown bear had come lumbering out of the woods, and it began throwing the brigands left and right as if they were dolls. This was all the distraction Athos and Constance seemed to need to turn the tide of the fighting back in their favor.

D’Artagnan kicked the legs out from under one of the men who had been standing over him, and pulled himself up. At the same time, the other two men and the woman in the dark cloak fled in the opposite direction. More of their attackers followed suit, and soon the only people on the road were the three of them and the bear.

Constance tightened her grip on the hilt of her knife and d’Artagnan did likewise with his sword. Athos stood stock still, looking unusually pale. He was staring at the bear. D’Artagnan stared too, and noticed that the bear had a scar over its eye.

Athos mouthed something and took an unsteady step forward, then another. Then he crossed to the bear completely and the most extraordinary thing happened. The bear bent its head and Athos rested his forehead against its forehead.

“Uh,” d’Artagnan said, taking step forward himself. “Athos?”

The bear growled in what d’Artagnan had to admit was protective fashion and gave d’Artagnan a less-than-friendly look.

“Is this- uh- a friend of yours?”

Athos turned to d’Artagnan, fingers buried in the fur of the bear’s neck, and nodded.

“Is it… tame?”

Athos’ eyes narrowed and he glared.

“ _He_ , I mean,” d’Artagnan corrected quickly, although he had no idea if that was the right thing to say. He sent a pleading look in Constance’s direction, hoping she would be able to help.

Constance was still pale and evidently somewhat rattled, but she rolled eyes at d’Artagnan, so she was all right. “There is a magic to him, the same as Athos. I think it might be a curse that I sensed before.”

“That would’ve been useful information earlier,” d’Artagnan hissed at her.

“Oh, well, I’m so sorry I don’t pick up everything,” she sniffed.

D’Artagnan took another step closer to the bear and addressed Athos. “Is he actually a man?” he asked.

Athos nodded.

“All right,” d’Artagnan said. “That’s new. I take it he’s coming with us?”

*   *   *

When they left the king’s road and entered the enchanted forest, the bear- or the not-bear, as d’Artagnan supposed he would have to get used to thinking of him- ceased trailing along behind them at a safe distance, as d'Artagnan suspected he had been doing for some time before he... introduced himself- and began to follow as close to Athos as possible. Sometimes d’Artagnan caught glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye and had to fight down the urge to reach for a weapon. But Athos seemed... more present with the not-bear nearby, and there was no doubt that the massive bear would again prove useful should they be attacked once again, so d’Artagnan began to grow accustomed to- and even appreciative of- his presence.

They were less than half a mile into the woods when Constance peeled off to scout ahead and inform their potential hosts of who- and what- was coming.

Because Athos had taken to walking in silence beside the not-bear, d’Artagnan was surprised when Athos fell into step with him instead. It was likely, he concluded, that there was something that Athos wanted to ask him. “Yes?” he asked.

Athos pointed in the direction Constance had gone and raised an eyebrow.

“Where is she going?” d’Artagnan translated, and received a nod. “We’re going to visit an… old friend of ours.”

Athos’ brow lifted further.

“She’s- well, she’s a witch, but a good one. She’s saved our lives more than once.” D’Artagnan pointed, though the mountain was not visible from under the foliage. “The mountain where the dragon lives is through this forest, so it’s not exactly out of our way- and she knows more about curses than anyone alive.” D’Artagnan nodded, significantly, in Porthos’ direction.

Athos’ mouth quirked, and he- very clearly- mouthed, “Thank you.”

D’Artagnan smiled.

   *   *   *

The deeper into the enchanted forest one went, the more… well, enchanted things looked. It wasn’t d’Artagnan’s favorite place to visit. But here, beyond a few odd-looking toad stools and some animals with more than the usual number of eyes, things were still relatively natural, and Ninon lived in a beautiful meadow in a clearing.

When they got there, Ninon was waiting outside. She had a cauldron boiling forbiddingly in a fire in front of her cottage. “Don’t look at me like that,” she instructed d’Artagnan. “It’s nothing more sinister than stew.”

“Your stew?” d’Artagnan asked, because that could be sinister indeed.

“Fleur’s,” Ninon informed him.

“Well then,” d’Artagnan said. “It’s sure to be delicious.”

Ninon frowned at him, but under the surface she was pleased. Compliments to Fleur always thawed her.

Their not-a-bear companion had hung back in the trees, so only Athos had followed d’Artagnan towards the cottage. Ninon’s eyes narrowed when she saw him and she spoke. “Athos?” D’Artagnan had only a moment to process it before she dashed forward and threw her arms around the guardsman’s neck. D’Artagnan looked at them sidelong, and not for long. There was something frighteningly intimate about the look of Athos’ hands encircling Ninon’s absurdly small waist.

When he felt the hug had lasted quite long enough, d’Artagnan cleared his throat and Ninon stepped back, beaming. “You know each other, I take it,” d’Artagnan said.

“Why, we’re old friends,” Ninon said. She looked at Athos curiously. “What happened to you?”

Athos gave his usual speaking shrug.

“He can’t talk,” d’Artagnan told her for him.

Just then, the bear evidently either decided that the cottage was safe, or decided that he didn’t care. He lumbered into the clearing. Ninon looked at him silently for a time. When she said, “Porthos,” there was an almost unbearable sympathy in her voice. ”Come,” she said after another moment. “Sit. Eat.”

D’Artagnan sat, and Ninon called into the cottage for Fleur and Constance. If Ninon was an old friend, Fleur was an even older one. Fleur had been close to Constance since before he and Constance had taken up their current business, and doubtless Constance had had many stories to tell her friend. Her friend, who had asked Constance once if there was good magic in the world. Who Constance had introduced to Ninon to prove that there was, and who had not left Ninon’s side since.

Constance sat on a log beside d’Artagnan as Fleur and Ninon doled out bowls of stew. Porthos lay down a little ways from the fire, and Athos sat back against him, as had become his custom. Ninon brought Athos a bowl with particularly gentle expression.

When Ninon sat between Constance and Fleur, d’Artagnan leaned in to speak to her. “Can you do anything for them?”

“I will look into it tonight,” Ninon said. “And tell you in the morning.”

“What do you know about them?” Constance asked.

Ninon sat back with a thoughtful expression, considering how to tell the tale. Fleur wrapped an arm around her waist and rested her chin against Ninon’s shoulder. “Many years ago, the king’s guards were captained by a man called Treville, who was different from Lebarge as the night is from day. He was even-tempered but brave, kind- and he brought out… wisdom in the king that none of us have seen since. Now, the men under Treville’s command were the finest soldiers in the kingdom, but there were three who considered the bravest and the best. The first was renowned as a swordsman-” here Ninon’s gaze turned to Athos- “the second a brawler” and here her eyes lingered on Porthos, “and the third was an archer, the greatest marksman in the kingdom. All was well with them when I left the capital and I don’t know what happened- but I’ve heard nothing about them in five years. All four of them might have died, for all I knew.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about this Treville person,” d’Artagnan told her, thinking out loud. “And if what happened to… the marksman-”

“Aramis,” Ninon said softly.

“If what happened to this Aramis is anything like what happened to Porthos, it’s no surprise you haven’t heard anything about him in a while. He's likely been cursed as well.  But Athos was in the capital city when we met him, and he’s mostly all right. But you make it sound like he disappeared as much as the rest of them.”

“In a way, I think he did,” Constance remarked.

D’Artagnan eyed her.

“Think about it. How quickly did he and Porthos find each other when he joined us?” Constance didn’t wait for d’Artagnan’s answer. “Do you think that’s a coincidence? I think part of his curse kept him from leaving the capital without the king expressly ordering him to. Remember how he was when we first past through the gates? I don’t think he’d been beyond the city walls in a very long time. And there’s something else as well, d’Artagnan. While you were watching Athos and the king, I was watching his advisor. And he didn’t look happy about the king ordering Athos to go with us.”

Ninon looked thoughtfully. “I don’t know much about the king’s new pet advisor- beyond the fact that I don’t trust him- but I’ll learn all I can.”

“Thank you,’ Constance said.

D’Artagnan sat back, still curious. “How did you know Athos?” he asked Ninon.

She gazed into the fire. “We were childhood friends. We met again when I was at court, and we were close. In fact-” and here she smiled- “we were sort of engaged. But I’d begun to learn magic, and… well, I had always found the life of a courtier stifling, and it only got worse. I decided to leave and he stood up for me. He reminded the king that he knew what it was to want to abandon that life.”

“Athos was a noble?”

Ninon inclined her head. “A count, though he left the title to his brother long ago.”

“And you were-”

“A countess.”

“Well,” d’Artagnan said. “We’re just swimming in gentry, suddenly.” He nodded to Porthos. “Is he a baron, or something?”

Ninon’s mouth quirked. “No. But I know he was something of a king among pirates.”

“A pirate,” d’Artagnan repeated. “Goodness.”

Constance laughed and hugged his arm.

“We should go inside so you can rest,” Ninon said, standing. “I will have something for you in the morning.”

“What about Athos?” d’Artagnan asked as he and Constance moved toward the door.

“If Porthos must sleep outside, so will he,” Ninon said. “And my cottage is many things, but able to accommodate a bear is not one of them.”

D’Artagnan caught Athos’ eye, and Athos nodded once to him. D’Artagnan went inside.

*   *   *

Ninon gave them her news in the morning.

“I did a spell, searching for the king’s advisor in the capital,” she said. “I wanted to get an idea of what he might be up to. I couldn’t find him, which means he is… cloaked in some way. I haven’t been able to figure out how, but I’ll keep trying. And he is up to something dark, I can tell you that. Tread carefully.”

“We will,” d’Artagnan said.

Constance took his arm. “Are you sure we should even be doing this, if there’s so much more to it than we thought?”

“This is rescuing the queen, not helping the king or his advisor, whoever he is,” d’Artagnan said. “Anyway, if you’re right about him, he doesn’t want us going after the queen. He might even be the one sending all those people to kill us.  I think that means we should keep doing exactly what we’re doing.”

Constance rolled her eyes, but her tone was fond. “Of course you do,” she said.  

D’Artagnan turned back to Ninon. “What about Athos and Porthos?”

Ninon passed him what looked like a scarf. “Hang this around Porthos' shoulders at midnight on a night with a new moon, and he’ll turn back into a man.”

D’Artagnan eyed the fabric in his hands skeptically. “All right,” he agreed.

She produced a vial. “If any one of you drinks this, it will give you a sense of where Aramis is and pull you towards that location. It will probably be the extra help you need to find him. As to what… condition he will be in, I cannot tell you.”

“What about Athos?” Constance asked, looking at the window at him. Athos had been up and armed to the teeth before any of them woke.

“I believe that his curse will be broken the moment they are all together and safe again.”

“Thank you,” d’Artagnan said, tying the scarf around his own neck and pocketing the vial. Ninon smiled and kissed his cheek.

Constance thanked her too. She hugged Ninon and Fleur, and then she took d’Artagnan’s hand and they went outside to collect Athos and Porthos and be on their way.

“Wait!” Fleur shouted, just as they were about to leave. When d’Artagnan stopped and turned she ran up to him and dumped a pile of clothes in his outstretched arms. D’Artagnan saw a tunic, a pair of trousers, some boots, a cloak and other necessaries in the pile.

“What are these for?” he asked, baffled.

“You’ll see,” Ninon laughed merrily from the doorway of her cottage. Fleur grinned and ran back inside.    

Judging from the way Athos’ mouth quirked and Constance ducked her head to hide her smile, the answer was obvious.

D’Artagnan huffed. “What am I meant to do with these?”

No one would tell him.  

*   *   *

Athos wouldn’t hear of anyone but him drinking Ninon’s potion, which d’Artagnan felt he really ought to have seen coming.  

He held out a hand and d’Artagnan- a little reluctantly- handed him the vial. “I would like to mention,” he said, “that we have absolutely no idea where he is and might be immediately steered a hundred miles in the opposite direction.”

The contemplative silence this inspired didn't last very long.

Athos drank.

He just stood there for a moment. Then he took off deeper into the forest at a frankly ridiculous speed. Porthos- having a longer stride than a human- seemed to have no trouble keeping up with him, but the further they went the more d’Artagnan wished he’d never gotten embroiled in all this. He was breathless, tired and sore- and then things got worse.

D’Artagnan began to develop the impression that the direction they were heading in was the single worst place they could possibly go. Things seemed to be crawling on his skin and the sensation only got worse as they moved forward. The territory in front of them gaped dark and forbidding, and every sense in d’Artagnan’s head was telling him to turn around while he was still alive. He stopped, catching Constance by the sleeve. With obvious reluctance, Athos stopped too.

“I don’t want to keep going,” d’Artagnan said. It sounded childish but it was the best description of how he felt that he could come up with, and he thought it might be important to share.

“Neither do I,” Constance said. “But that’s a sign that we’re headed in the right direction.”

“It is?”

Constance nodded. “It’s probably a spell to keep anyone travelling through the forest from stopping this way. It’ll get worse as we get closer, but I think we’re almost there.” She held out her hand to d’Artagnan.

He took her hand, and though the next few steps were torture he felt he could anything with her that close to him.

And it turned out that Constance was right to think they were close. Athos led them over the next rise, and there was a clearing at the mouth of a cave. Athos only paused for a moment to make sure they were still behind him, and then he walked into the cave. Porthos, who hardly fit through the mouth of the cave, hesitated for a moment before following, and Constance and d’Artagnan poured in behind him.

There seemed to be a hole in the ceiling of the cave which admitted a little sunlight, and the sunlight fell on a kind of bier in the middle of the cavern. There was a man in a white shirt and a dark tunic and breeches lying on it.

“That’s Aramis, I take it,” d’Artagnan said, but he didn’t need his silent companions to tell him he was right.

Aramis was a very handsome man- perhaps closer to beautiful. He looked, frankly, like exactly the sort of person d’Artagnan and Constance had found under sleeping curses before: jet black hair, clear skin, fine features. Athos crossed and leaned over him, looking as helpless as d’Artagnan had yet seen him. Porthos crouched at Aramis’ head and nudged him sadly with his nose. Neither seemed surprised when he didn’t move.  

“Try kissing him,” d’Artagnan suggested.

Both Athos and Porthos stared at him. Indeed, the similarity between their expressions was rather uncanny.

Constance gave d’Artagnan a less than kindly look, but jumped in to help anyway. “True love’s kiss is the generally accepted cure for these kinds of curses,” she said with a shrug.

“And you do love him, right?”

Athos nodded and looked back at Aramis, hesitating. He closed the distance between them, cradled Aramis’ jaw in one hand, and kissed him. D’Artagnan thought it looked a little perfunctory, but this wasn’t exactly the most romantic of situations, and the longing and desperation in Athos’ eyes was undeniable.

He drew back. They waited for a several moments, and nothing happened. Athos still didn’t look surprised.

“What do you think the problem is?” Constance asked.

Athos pointed between Aramis and Porthos, remaining still by Aramis’ head.

“You think Porthos needs to kiss him too,” Constance said. “It has to be both of you.”

Athos nodded sadly. Porthos nudged Aramis’ head with his nose. Athos stroked Aramis’ cheek briefly and then returned his attention to d’Artagnan and Constance. He pointed in what would, outside, be the direction of the mountain. The tension in his eyes was clear.

“Well,” d’Artagnan started. “We could always take him with us. Glass coffins are a very in mode of transportation these days, and we know a couple of dwarves who-”

Porthos growled.

Constance rolled her eyes. “D’Artagnan is joking,” she said. “The new moon is tonight. There is no reason why we shouldn’t wait. It’s been days since we set out and even longer since the queen was taken. One more day and night won’t hurt. It’s all right.”

Athos mouthed, ‘Thank you,’ and Porthos looked- for a bear- reasonably mollified.

They made a fire near the mouth of the cave and waited for nightfall. Constance rested her head on d’Artagnan’s shoulders, and Athos sat back against Porthos as usual. D’Artagnan couldn’t wait for the whole business to be resolved; he didn’t think he’d soon forget the sight of the guardsman and the bear, both wearing identical expressions of worry.

*   *   *

When moonrise came, d’Artagnan handed Athos the scarf Ninon had given them, feeling that he deserved to be the one to do the honors. Athos threw the scarf over Porthos’ shoulders and they all stood back.

D’Artagnan spoke first. “Do you suppose it’ll be a gradual thing, or-”

In space of a minute- probably less- all the fur sloughed away, and when it was gone there was a man- a large, dark-skinned man- instead of a bear standing in the darkness. “Oh,” d’Artagnan said as he looked at the man. “That’s what they’re for.” He went into his pack and tossed the clothes from Ninon at the naked man in front of him.  

Athos was the one who caught the clothes. He closed the remaining distance between himself and Porthos and reached out to him, hand running over his bare chest.

“Athos,” Porthos said, in a gravelly voice.

Still Athos didn’t say a word, but d’Artagnan heard his great, relieved exhalation. D’Artagnan looked away as they embraced. He took Constance’s hand they moved a little ways into the cave to give them a little privacy. When d’Artagnan glanced their way again, he saw that Porthos was shaking faintly and Athos was helping him put the clothes on. D’Artagnan wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything more tender in his life.  

Athos ran a finger over Porthos’ face. In what little light there was, d’Artagnan could see that the scar over his eye was still there. Athos kissed him there.

Porthos kissed Athos hard on the lips and then drew back. “Now Aramis,” he said,

Athos nodded, and hand in hand they followed Constance and d’Artagnan into the cave.

They flanked the bier in the middle of the cavern, Porthos on the right and Athos on the left. They kissed each other once more and then bent down. Athos ran his fingers through Aramis’ hair while Porthos kissed him. Then Athos leaned in and kissed Aramis himself.

They both backed off, and all was quiet. D’Artagnan looked on the man on bier, and saw dark eyes blink open.

“Does someone want to tell me what’s going on?” the man asked.

*   *   *

Aramis sat by the fire with the cloak Ninon had given d’Artagnan for Porthos wrapped around his shoulders. He was, if anything, even more gorgeous animated then he had been lying on the bier. He smiled readily, and his dark eyes sparkled- and he drew more laughs for Porthos and gentle smiles from Athos than d’Artagnan had yet seen. They had, as briefly as they could, explained to him where he was and how much time had passed and why they were here now- but none of it appeared to have dampened his spirits.

D’Artagnan hadn’t exactly had time to get used to Porthos as a human before this new man was introduced, but in some ways d’Artagnan got the sense that they were a matched set. Oh, they were very different- even beside their little fire and surrounded by their little company, Aramis behaved as if he was holding court; there was a performance to everything about him- except, of course, the looks of adoration he continually sent in Athos and Porthos’ direction. Porthos was quieter, but in a completely different way than Athos was; he said and did little because he seemed more interested in drawing his companions out than steering the conversation himself. But at the same time, Aramis and Porthos had a way of looking at each other, playing off each other when they spoke, that made d’Artagnan wonder how they could ever have been apart for any length of time.

And they flanked Athos in a way that made d’Artagnan wonder how he had ever been without them at all.

“You still can’t speak?” d’Artagnan asked Athos when he had the chance.

Athos shook his head.

“I don’t understand it,” d’Artagnan said, to frowns all around. “Ninon thought once you were all together it would just happen. She seemed pretty sure. So, I mean, are you certain you can't-”

Athos gave d’Artagnan a hard look that shut him up.

Aramis was bolder. He took Athos’ hand. “Athos, love,” he said, “I want you to try to talk.”

Athos scowled at him.      

Aramis smiled a little. “I don’t mean that you’re wrong when you say you can’t right now. I just mean that if you want to say something, you should try to say it. You’ve probably gotten so used to not being able to speak that you just don’t bother anymore. If you try every time, at least we’ll know that you aren’t talking because you can’t rather than because it came back and you just didn’t bother to open your mouth.”

Reluctantly, Athos nodded. His lips formed, ‘Makes sense.’

Aramis smiled broader and squeezed Athos’ hand. “You know,” he said after a brief silence. “I still haven't really gotten an explanation as to what happened.”

“Don’t look at us,” d’Artagnan said. “We’re just along for the ride.”

Constance frowned at him, but rested her head on his shoulder anyway.

Porthos, his voice still somewhat ragged from disuse, said, “What’s the last thing you remember, Aramis?”

Aramis took some time to consider the question. “There was a ball,” he said, at last. “Do you remember?”

Porthos bit his lip. “The one in honor of that magician who had healed the king when he was ill? Yeah, I remember that. What was his name?”

Athos mouthed something and scowled. Then he gripped Porthos’ arm and signed something at him. Communicating with Athos had gotten easier since Porthos and Aramis appeared; the three of them appeared to already have a kind of sign language in place- probably for use in battle situations- and Athos could now use it to tell them things.

“Richelieu,” Aramis said. “That’s right.”

“Is he a man with grey hair?” d’Artagnan asked. “Wears all red?”

Aramis nodded.

Athos was nodding too. He signed to Porthos. “He’s been the king’s favorite advisor ever since he showed up,” Porthos translated for him.

“Well, he was new then,” Aramis remarked. “Treville didn’t trust him.”

“I do remember that,” Porthos said. “He asked us to watch him.”

Aramis slumped against Athos’ shoulder. “I don’t think I did so well at that,” he said. “There was a woman. I think… her name was Adele. We’d spoken on one or two occasions before. That night she was crying and I followed her outside to ask what was the matter, see if I could help. The next thing I knew, I was waking up here. And it’s been five years?”

Athos wrapped his arm around Aramis’ chest and held onto him.

Porthos reached out and gripped Aramis’ forearm. “Anyway,” he said. “It could have been worse right?” He looked thoughtful. “I remember seeing Richelieu take the king aside and following them into another room. After that it gets fuzzy. The next thing I properly knew, I was in the forest and running on four legs.”

Aramis took Porthos’ hand in his and held on.

They were all silent for a time, and then Aramis turned to Athos, craning to look up at him. “What do you know about what happened?”

“Yeah,” Porthos said, looking at him. “You’ve been in the castle the whole time.”

Athos again started to say something and pulled a face when no words came out. He paused for a while longer, and then started signing rapidly, as if he wasn’t sure he’d get it all out even if he paused for a moment.

“He lost track of us,” Porthos explained, obviously for d’Artagnan and Constance’s benefit. “And then a woman pulled him out on dance floor. He said he didn’t know her. She had dark hair, she was very beautiful…”

D'Artagnan thought about that.  "I think she might have been with the robbers who attacked us."

“Do we think she works for this Richelieu?” Constance asked.

Athos nodded again, but signed.

“Maybe,” Porthos said.

Athos kept signing.

“She told him that she had Aramis and I, and she-” Porthos swallowed and looked down. “She- or maybe it was someone behind the scenes and she was just the face, the distraction- put the curse on him right there. He’d never be able to speak or go beyond the castle walls until we were back with him again.” Porthos was speaking for himself when he said, “Why would they- whoever they are- do all this?”

“Obviously they thought we knew something,” Aramis said. “I have no idea what it might have been, though. Something to do with Richelieu?”

Athos signed something.

“The king hasn’t listened to a word against the man since,” Porthos translated for d’Artagnan and Constance.

“What about Treville?” Aramis asked.

“Athos hasn’t seen him since that night,” Porthos explained. “He couldn’t exactly go looking.”

“Right,” Aramis said. Then, “If you couldn’t go beyond the city walls, how did you end up here?” he asked.

“The king ordered it,” Porthos said after Athos signed it.

“Well,” Aramis said, backing off from Athos to look at him properly. “Thank goodness for that loophole, hmm?”

Athos nodded, once, sharply and angrily. Then he stood and walked away from the campfire, signing rapidly to Porthos. “He needs to be alone for a bit,” Porthos said.    

Once Athos was gone, Aramis said, “There’s more to it than he’s saying. There’s something else bothering him.”

“There is?” d’Artagnan asked.

Aramis nodded as though it was obvious. “It’s written all over his face.”

“I thought that just _was_ his face,” d’Artagnan said.

Aramis’ mouth twitched at that, but Porthos and Constance exchanged a look that made d’Artagnan think that those two were going to get along just a little too well. Aramis took Porthos’ arm. “I think you should follow him- he’s more likely to tell you.”

Porthos nodded, and stood with an effort. There was residual awkwardness to his movements, as if he had to remind himself constantly what he was supposed to do with his limbs, but he soon got on his feet and headed in the direction Athos had gone.

“So,” Aramis said, turning to Constance and d’Artagnan with a charming smile that was very much at odds with the worry in his eyes. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Aramis.”

“D’Artagnan.”

“Constance.”

“And you’re…”

“Witch-hunters,” Constance said.

“We do quite a few things in the… general monster hunting business,” d’Artagnan said. “But the term witch-hunter just sort of… stuck.”

“Was your first kill a witch?”

“Yes,” Constance said. “But we aren’t allowed to talk about it.”

When they explained why, Aramis threw back his head in what d’Artagnan thought, this time, was genuine amusement. He laughed for several minutes.

*   *   *

Later that night, Constance fell asleep next to d’Artagnan. D’Artagnan lay awake, wondering how soon Athos and Porthos would come back.

Porthos returned first, and he was obviously disturbed. D’Artagnan didn’t know him well, but he could see it in the way he held his shoulders, the way his brows were drawn together, and the way his hands were clenched into fists. He sat down by Aramis and wrapped his arms around him from behind. Aramis lifted a hand to touch Porthos’ forearm. “Did Athos tell you what’s going on?” he whispered. He probably thought d’Artagnan was asleep like Constance.

“Not about why the curse hasn’t broken,” Porthos replied. “I think he has no more idea about that than we do. But there’s something else, about his curse. It took him a while to explain it to me, with the signing and everything, but…”

“But?”

“Besides not being able to talk, he couldn’t go beyond the city walls until the king ordered him to. But more than that, he has to do everything the king says. He has a little leeway in how he does it, but if he’s given a direct order he can’t disobey.” Porthos went quiet for a while, tightening his grip on Aramis. “Athos says that he’s been given an order. He was told not to tell anyone about it, so he can’t even sign that one out. He says we’ll know it when it happens and that we… we have to stop him. He says he’d been teaching the boy, so he and the girl would be able to do it, but he says it’s better that it’s us.”

“When Athos says ‘stop him,’ does he mean what I think he does?”

“Yes.”

Aramis leaned back, resting his head on Porthos’ chest. “I hate this,” he murmured.

“Me too,” Porthos said.

“What are we going to do now?”

“Help those two finish the job they were hired to do. Hope something breaks Athos’ curse along the way. If nothing else, the queen is worth saving, right?”

“I always liked her,” Aramis said.

Porthos snorted. “Don’t remind me.”

Aramis laughed softly. D’Artagnan supposed there was some history behind the exchange, because it took some of the tension out of the air. The silence that followed must have been a more comfortable one, because they didn’t speak again, not even when Athos finally came back and lay down beside them.

D’Artagnan listened to the three of them shifting until they found positions that they felt were satisfactory and then- one by one- dropped off to sleep. D’Artagnan closed his eyes, but found that- for him- sleep was slow in coming.  

*   *   *

D’Artagnan ended up in the dirt, again.

Athos was being particularly ferocious with his ‘training’ techniques, and d’Artagnan wondered if something had happened after he finally fell asleep- if Aramis and Porthos had said that if it came to that they wouldn’t fight him, so Athos had to return to plan B. It was a comfort for d’Artagnan to know that Athos wasn’t really angry at him, but at the situation- but eventually he’d had sword at his throat one time too many.

He kicked Athos on the knee, knocking him down, and grabbed him by his jacket. “You need to stop this,” he said. “If you want to help me become a better swordsman, fine- I probably do need the training.” D’Artagnan had not yet mentioned to anyone but Constance his private wish to face Lebarge once again. “But if what you actually want is to teach me how to kill you, I’m telling you right now that I won’t do it.”

Athos stared at him.

“I overheard Porthos and Aramis talking last night.”

The two men in question were huddled by the campfire, and both put on faces of exaggerated innocence when Athos glared at them.

“It’s just not going to happen,” d’Artagnan said. “The curse will break, Ninon promised. I guess it’s just going to take a little time. We just need to make it that far- and if we don’t, we’ll just think of something else.”    

“He’s right,” Aramis said. “You just have to let us actually help you.”

“Unfortunately,” Constance said, from where she was sitting beside Aramis and Porthos, “We can’t exactly risk Athos trying to kill us all or something- he might not give us a choice if we let him. I’ve been thinking about it since d’Artagnan told me this morning.”

Judging from Athos’ expression, he thought someone was finally making sense, but the three of them ignored him.

“What then?” Porthos asked.

“I have an idea.” She gripped Aramis’ wrist. “Come with me,” she said, and tugged him to the edge of camp where they could talk without being overheard. Whatever she said made Aramis frown, then grin like the sun coming up.    

Athos’ lips formed, “I’m standing right here, you know.”

D’Artagnan smiled at his offended expression. At least he was doing as he’d promised Aramis and trying to talk.

*   *   *

Constance and Aramis wouldn’t tell anyone about their plan, which offended d’Artagnan just a little. Their not telling Athos he understood, but when they insisted on keeping the circle small and not telling him or Porthos, d’Artagnan understood that less. Constance and Aramis spent a lot of time huddled close, or wandering off into the woods together, and d’Artagnan thought he wasn’t the only one getting a little jealous, or a lot impatient. But knowing they had a plan seemed to calm Athos down, which was something.      

They reached the edge of the forest by dusk, and without incident. In fact, the final leg of their journey was completed so easily that d’Artagnan found himself suspicious. After everything, he didn’t think it could possibly be that simple. He had never considered himself clairvoyant before, but he was convinced that things were going to get worse before they got better.

At the foot of the mountain, the trees petered off, leaving rocky, charred ground in the place of damp soil and greenery. The climb wasn’t steep, but the earth crumbled under their feet, making the way difficult. In the fading light, d’Artagnan could see that, long ago, there had been a fort carved into the mountain. He saw battlements and arrow slats carved into the stone, and even a giant doorway. The portcullis had been knocked away, and it hung uselessly to one side of the opening.

D’Artagnan nearly lost his footing at one point. Athos gripped his wrist and pulled him down instead of up, flattening d’Artagnan to the black dirt behind a rock.

“Wha-” he started to ask, coughing quietly as he inhaled a cloud of dust.

Looking annoyed, Athos pointed up toward the keep.

The dragon flew out of the doorway, green scales glittering in the setting sun. Looking behind him, d’Artagnan saw Constance, Aramis and Porthos crouching behind a boulder. The dragon didn’t appear to have seen them. It flew out over the forest.

Athos nodded toward the keep, and they all continued to the climb.

D’Artagnan was exhausted by the time they reached the doorway- they all were- but they continued on. Past that broken portcullis was a dark and seemingly endless tunnel. Constance used some magic dust she had acquired to make a cool fire in the palm of her hand to light the way. She led them forward while d’Artagnan dropped behind.

“It’s lucky that dragon decided to pop out, isn’t it?” Aramis remarked as they walked.

D’Artagnan glanced behind him. Porthos was bringing up the rear, and Athos walked between them, his arms wrapped tightly around his own chest. Athos didn’t look like he thought it was lucky. He had started to look decidedly green the moment they entered the mountain, and it was only getting worse the further they travelled. D’Artagnan swallowed. “Uh,” he said. “Uh- Constance, Aramis- whatever it was you were planning on doing, I think you should do it now.”

Athos’ expression was impossibly grateful for a heartbeat. He didn’t have much more time than that, because Aramis acted without taking a second to question d’Artagnan’s advice. This utter lack of hesitation would have pleased d’Artagnan if it didn’t feel like such a heavy burden. Aramis drew an arrow, notched it to his bow, and fired.

The arrow grazed Athos’ arm- barely drawing blood- and everyone just stood there and stared for a moment. D’Artagnan was about to ask Aramis if he had really been the best archer among the king’s guardsmen with Athos collapsed.

Porthos caught him halfway down and lowered him gently to the ground.

“What was that?” d’Artagnan demanded.

“The plan,” Constance answered. “There’s a plant that grows in the forest. If you grind up the leaves, an oil comes out that causes people to fall into a deep sleep.”

“How long will it last?” Porthos asked, brushing loose hair from Athos’ eyes.

“That I’m less sure about,” Constance admitted. She looked at the ground. “It could be only minutes, it could be hours. Hopefully, it’ll buy us enough time to figure out what Athos was so afraid he was going to do here.”

Aramis notched another arrow to his bow just to have it at the ready. “I really hope that was right.”

Constance set her jaw. “I’m very sure about the effects.”

“Not that,” Aramis said, with a slightly nervous smile that mollified her somewhat. “I meant taking Athos out of play at all. The dragon isn’t home right now, but who knows how soon he’ll be back? We might still need Athos, bad orders from the king or no.”

“It’ll be all right,” Porthos said, touching Athos’ face a final time and standing. “We’ve got the kid, haven’t we? You saw him fight; he’s almost as good as Athos.”

“Thank you?” d’Artagnan said. “I think.”

They pressed onward through the tunnel.

D’Artagnan cut ahead so he could talk to Constance. “So- how will we know when we get there?” he asked. He was beginning to see a bit of light, now. And then the tunnel suddenly emptied out into a ledge. Constance gripped d’Artagnan’s sleeve as he peered over an abyss. “Never mind.”    


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Of course,” the queen- for d’Artagnan assumed that was who she must be- said, tightening her grip on the sword. “The king sent you to kill me.” While Aramis stared blankly at her, she bit her lip. “Funny. I was sure it would be Athos.” The queen pulled herself up to her full height and began, in that moment, to look queenly for the first time. “I warn you,” she said. “I won’t make it easy.”_
> 
> _“Well,” d’Artagnan said, when it seemed no one else was going to. “That would explain some things.”_

The dragon’s lair was easily as magnificent as the literature about dragons had led d’Artagnan to believe- and that was saying something.

The tunnel opened out into a tiny, winding staircase down what was practically a cliff face leading into the cavernous room below it. Everything appeared to have been cut from the very stone of the mountain, and tunnels branched off in all directions. The room itself was filled with tables carved of shining wood, and chairs with velvet and brocade upholstery. D’Artagnan saw paintings and maps and ancient clocks- and stacks upon stacks of books. Some had been shelved, while others stood in enormous stacks- a few almost as tall as the trees in the forest they had just passed through.  

Impressive stock of books and art and fine furniture aside, one thing d’Artagnan saw very little of in that room was gold or gems or jewelry. This struck him as immediately odd, for he had been given to understand that dragons favored such things above all else.

With Constance’s guiding hand on his sleeve, d’Artagnan followed her and Aramis down the precarious steps. They were dusty and did not appear to have been used in a long time. Porthos brought up the rear, having decided to leave Athos sleeping at the top until they had a better idea of what was waiting for them.

It was only when they reached ground level that d’Artagnan properly saw the woman.

There was a chaise of red velvet in the middle of the room, strewn with various blankets and pillows and surrounded by some of the lowest stacks of books. The woman had been lounging there, reading one of these books, when she heard them approaching. She had tossed the book aside and, as they came closer, grabbed behind her, seizing a sword and pointing it at them. She just stared with wide blue eyes for a moment, then she said, “Aramis?” slowly. “Porthos?”

Aramis smiled what d’Artagnan suspected was his best ‘I’m harmless’ smile and took a step toward her. “That’s right,” he said. “The king sent us.”

D’Artagnan raised an eyebrow and Porthos shrugged. It was simpler than the truth.

“Of course,” the queen- for d’Artagnan assumed that was who she must be- said, tightening her grip on the sword. “The king sent you to kill me.” While Aramis stared blankly at her, she bit her lip. “Funny. I was sure it would be Athos.” The queen pulled herself up to her full height and began, in that moment, to look queenly for the first time. “I warn you,” she said. “I won’t make it easy.”  

“Well,” d’Artagnan said, when it seemed no one else was going to. “That _would_ explain some things.”

“We’re not going to kill you,” Aramis told her quickly. “I mean- Athos might have but he wouldn’t have wanted to, and anyway he’s unconscious back up there, so you don’t have to worry about him, I promise.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”

Any further arguments with the queen were cut short by the sound of wing-beats, followed by a creature larger than all of them combined slammed into the ground behind the queen. The ground quaked beneath d’Artagnan’s feet and he took an involuntary step back even as the dragon’s tail curled around to rest menacingly between Aramis and the queen.

As much of an honor as it had been to hear Porthos say that he was almost good as Athos, d’Artagnan wasn’t sure how much use he could really be at the moment. He wasn’t sure what good anyone could be against a creature of this size.

“Captain.”

Athos had evidently woken up. He was still on the high ledge where they left him, and this first word d’Artagnan had ever heard him speak came out quietly, but it still echoed through the room.

“What?” Aramis yelped.

Porthos’ brows drew together. “Athos did recognize _me_.”

The dragon grunted. “Humph,” he said. “I was beginning to think that you three would never get here.”

Aramis’ attention was flickering between the dragon and Athos. Since the dragon didn’t appear to be actively trying to kill anyone, d’Artagnan decided to focus on Athos. “Feeling any… homicidal urges?” he asked.

“No,” Athos said. “I think the curse is fully broken.”

“But the king did order you to kill the queen?” Constance asked.

“If she was still alive- which no one thought she would be- yes.” Athos sounded exhausted. “But I don’t feel the compulsion to _obey_ that I did.”

“All right,” d’Artagnan said. “Good to get that sorted out. Now.” He turned the dragon. “Who are you again?”

“I used to be the captain of the king’s guards, until I began to suspect that the man the king believed had saved his life was actually using magic to the control him.” The dragon lay down, probably to appear less menacing, but he grew slightly agitated as he explained what had happened, and when he drummed his tail on the ground, it shook. “The morning after the ball that the king threw in Richelieu’s honor, I woke up like this.”

“We all had variations on that theme,” Porthos said.

“I thought you might have. I flew around the city for a while before I found this place, but until Athos just now, no one recognized me- except Anne.”

He glanced in the queen’s direction at this, and she sat down beside him, resting her head on his flank. “We kept in contact,” she explained. “I was trying to find out what Richelieu was up to from inside the palace, but he started to suspect me. When I told Treville that, he came up with the idea of telling the king he’d stop terrorizing villages if he handed me over.”

“And why _were_ you terrorizing villages?” Aramis asked.

“I wasn’t.”

“That’s what I learned just before Richelieu found me out,” the queen said. “He’d been amassing wealth by getting local landowners to pay him for protection. If they didn’t pay, their homes would be burned down or their livestock would be taken. It was just easy for Treville to take the fall.”

“Being a dragon, I'd guess so.” D’Artagnan considered what they'd learned. “You know, we might be able to help you with that. We’re getting pretty good at curse breaking at this point.”

“I’m fine, actually,” Treville said. “Or I would be, if everyone would stop trying to kill me.”

The queen, who had sat up with a faintly alarmed expression, lay back down again.  

“Well,” Constance said in the thoughtful silence that followed. “I guess all this changes our objectives, doesn’t it?”

“Yes?” d’Artagnan said slowly- more because he was used to agreeing with Constance than because he knew what she was talking about.

“We were hired to save the kingdom, weren’t we?”

D'Artagnan opened his mouth.

"In spirit, I mean."

D’Artagnan closed his mouth and nodded.

Constance smiled sweetly. “Then that’s what we’re going to do.”

*   *   *

Everyone had agreed with Constance, as if they were unaware of what had happened to those who had so much as thought about suspecting Richelieu before- which was ridiculous, because they were the ones it had happened to. They had decided to take a little time to rest and take stock before coming up with a plan.

Aramis and Porthos had left the mountain to hunt down some dinner, and Constance and Athos had settled down with the dragon- Treville- to find out everything he knew about Richelieu.

This left d’Artagnan rather at loose ends.

He explored the fort a little, and ran into Queen Anne.

“What about you?” d’Artagnan asked her. “You’re the one we came here for in the first place, after all.”

“Can’t you tell Louis you didn’t find me?” she asked. “He wanted me gone anyway- he’ll accept it.” Her eyes had gone oddly beseeching.

“To what end?”

“So I can stay here,” she said. “You heard what he said. Treville doesn’t want to be changed back, and even if everyone in the kingdom agrees to leave him alone, he’ll keep living here.”

“Why would you want to stay?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Because I don’t love my husband. And I love Treville.”

“You do?” D’Artagnan thought about the dragon. “How. Um. How does that work?”

Anne- she seemed like Anne to him that moment- laughed. She looked around her. “This fort housed a dragon a hundred years ago. That’s where most of what you saw in the great hall came from. I organize it, find places to put it. I visit the villages on the other side the forest once a month and give the gold and jewels to people who seem like they need it. I find the books, the art. I catalogue and I read and I learn- and when he comes back at night, I tell him what I learned. We talk. I sit with him all around me and I feel safe. That’s how it works. That’s all I ever wanted.”

The love in her voice was as obvious as d’Artagnan suspected it would be if someone asked him to explain what it was like having Constance in his life. He tried to imagine if Constance wasn’t human. He knew he would probably love her just the same, but he would hate not being able to be with her the way he was. “I don’t really understand,” he admitted. “But I don’t have to. What matters is that you’re happy. If you want to stay, we’ll find a way to let you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

*   *   *

After conversing with Constance on the subject, Anne did her best to air out a wing of the keep. It had a sitting room flanked by two bedrooms, and though the furniture was a little dusty and the air was a little stale it was still the nicest place d’Artagnan had been given to sleep since he and Constance had been 'hired' by the king.

They sat up for a time before going to bed. Constance sat on d’Artagnan’s lap in an armchair, while Aramis lay crosswise on a loveseat with his head in Athos’ lap. Porthos perched on the side, one arm wrapped around Athos’ chest, the other wrapped around him so he could hold Aramis’ hand. Aramis looked at their entwined fingers while he spoke, “So what exactly are we going to do?”

“We’ll go back to the city, and tell the king that we killed the dragon and didn’t find the queen at all,” Constance said.

“Assuming that d’Artagnan is right and the woman in charge of the brigands who have been attacking us works for Richelieu,” Athos said thoughtfully, “we can’t afford for her and her people to get back to the city before us.”

“I think they’ll try one more time,” d’Artagnan said.  These things tended to happen in threes. 

“Then we’ll have to make sure none of them escape this time,” Athos returned grimly. Porthos’ grip on him tightened. “It’s not unreasonable that we’ll have to kill a few in the initial attack- but if they surrender, which they are likely to do…”

“I have an idea about that,” Porthos told them.

Aramis craned to look up at him. “You do?”

“Oh yeah.” Porthos was smiling a little.  "I'll send off a message tonight.  I have some friends who could help, and they usually weigh anchor and camp on the edge of the forest this time of year."  

“Well,” Constance picked up, “assuming we manage all of that, we’ll have to find a way to break Richelieu’s control over the king.”

“And for that, we’re probably going to need help,” d’Artagnan added.

“Ninon,” Athos said.

Aramis blinked, and gave Athos a vaguely accusing look. “You didn’t say you’d seen Ninon again.”

“It didn’t come up,” Athos replied in a measured tone. “Anyway, it was Constance and d’Artagnan who took us to see her.”

“She helped us find you," Porthos put in.

Aramis seemed mollified, but still not entirely happy.

“At any rate,” Athos said, “surely having a witch on our side will be to our benefit. And we will stop Richelieu. Whatever it takes.”  

* * *

The attack came at dawn.

It began- as d’Artagnan had become tragically accustomed to mornings beginning- with Athos crouching over him and dropping a sword next to his head. “Ugh,” d’Artagnan groaned. “Can’t you do that to Constance sometime?”

Athos’ lip twitched. “But Constance is already getting ready.”

D’Artagnan squinted, and saw Constance sitting on the bed and busily buckling knives to her arms and legs and shoulders and- well, everywhere frankly. She paused to grin cheekily at him.

After blinking a few times to clear his head, d’Artagnan staggered out of bed and started pulling on his jacket. “They’re here then?”

Athos nodded.

“How many are we looking at?”

“Aramis and Anne are on the wall, counting them- but as of yet I don’t know. Given the steady manner in which their numbers have increased thus far, it’s safe to assume that we may find ourselves outnumbered four to one- or more.”

D’Artagnan started pulling on his boots and considered what Athos had said. It was still a little bizarre to hear him talking, so d’Artagnan needed extra time to process his words. “Anne?”

“The queen is a proficient archer- not as good as Aramis, but then few are. They’re going to provide us with cover.” Leaning against the door, Athos sighed. “We’re in a good position. Under other circumstances we could easily wait them out from a place like this- I assume many sieges were weathered here in precisely that manner once upon a time. Unfortunately, we can’t risk any of them returning and telling Richelieu about us. When we return, it has to be on our terms.”

“So we face them now,” d’Artagnan said grimly, buckling the sword to his hip.

Athos nodded and turned away, heading through the receiving room out to the hallway.

D’Artagnan kissed Constance quickly and followed Athos out, Constance close on his heels. “What are we going to do?”

“While Aramis and Anne stay on the battlements, the four of us are going out there. Anne showed me a tunnel which empties out at the foot of the mountain- we should be able to flank them, if we’re lucky.”

“Lucky, huh,” d’Artagnan said as they stepped into the main hall.

Porthos was already there. He had found an enormous battleaxe somewhere in the dragon’s collection and was swinging it experimentally, looking pleased.

That reminded d’Artagnan- “Where’s Treville?”

“He left while it was still dark,” Porthos told him.

D’Artagnan frowned. “A dragon would have been awfully useful.”

Athos put a hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he promised. “He’ll come back, I’m sure of it.”

Athos held his eyes, and d’Artagnan nodded, willing to trust Athos if not a man he didn’t know. “Until then?” he asked.

“Until then, we keep to the plan.”    

“Great,” d’Artagnan said. “The plan.”

Not long after that, Aramis came down from the wall to confirm the worst and went back up again. Athos led them into the tunnel he’d spoken of. Constance was silent, still and grim. D’Artagnan was all but wringing his hands. Porthos might as well have been going on a nice stroll on a sunny day, but he did remark to Athos, “I’m glad he’s up there.” Athos nodded.

D’Artagnan gritted his teeth around the wish that Constance was too. Her weapon of choice might have been long range, but it wasn’t long enough- and anyway, she’d strangle him if he tried to do anything he wouldn’t want her to.

And it had been like this for as long as they’d known each other- they did these things together or not at all.

They came out of the tunnel and made their way up the mountainside as quietly as possible. There were indeed as many as twice the previous number of attackers, all planning some kind of siege, and they were attempting to use a wagon- packed with a battering ram and other siege weapons- as cover.

One of the raiders saw them and shouted a warning to the others.

Porthos rolled his eyes and raised his axe.

Everything became a bit of a blur after that. D’Artagnan knew himself to be competent fighter, but he had never fought so many before- and he was not yet accustomed to thinking about anyone but Constance while in battle. He had a sixth sense of her that made it easy to know where she was- slipping around the edges of the fighting, picking their enemies off with the gleaming toss of a knife. It wasn’t the same with Athos and Porthos. D’Artagnan saw again the single-minded grace with which Athos fought, and properly saw Porthos in action for the first time. Porthos was like a whirlwind, easier to keep track of by the men he threw this way and that than by his own presence, he was so fast.

Arrows fell like rain, more often than not merely clipping their targets- all of whom fell. So Anne and Aramis were using more of the sleeping drug that Aramis and Constance had used on Athos.

They had to move fast, then, since they now knew it wouldn’t last long.      

There were so many of them- as if every time an enemy fell there were two more in his place. D’Artagnan felt himself losing confidence.

A body collided with d’Artagnan’s, and he wheeled around only to see Athos. For just a moment, Athos gripped his shoulder. He whispered, “Just think about what’s in front of you.”

Athos was gone again before d’Artagnan could ask what that was supposed to mean, but the next time someone attacked him d’Artagnan began to think that Athos had told him exactly the right thing. He concentrated on the man he was fighting, and did the same as he was replaced with another, and then another. The tunnel vision made it easier to keep from being overwhelmed.

It unfortunately also made it easier to forget too much about one’s surroundings, and d’Artagnan yet again didn’t notice one sneaking up on him from behind until it was almost too late.

He blocked a blow from the new man’s sword and then was almost hit by another- but then that man took an arrow and collapsed.

D’Artagnan had a brief sight of Queen Anne nodding once to him before he continued fighting.

“Do you really think you can win this?” the woman in the dark cloak- their leader- shouted to Athos. “Even if you could get back to king, what do you think you could say to him? My master has far more influence with him than someone like you could ever understand.”  

Another of Aramis’ drugged arrows flew, hitting the woman in the shoulder. She glared at Athos as if this was his fault in particular and crumpled. The remaining forces- of whom there were to still far too many- were briefly paralyzed by uncertainty, half willing to give up now that their leader had fallen, half determined to keep fighting.

But then a shadow fell over everyone, and a moment later Treville landed on the mountainside, shaking loose stones and even a few boulders. His tail landed neatly between the four of them and their enemies.

One by one, the raiders dropped their weapons and put their hands up.

*   *   *

Once the fighting was over and all their ‘guests’ had been brought into the keep and bound, Anne remained on watch while Aramis, who apparently had some medical training, directed the others in seeing to the raiders’ injuries.

“Two more!” Anne shouted in at them.

“What?” Athos asked, his brows drawing together. He jogged outside, Porthos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan following. Athos and Aramis peered over the wall at Anne’s side. Porthos loomed over Aramis’ head to do the same.

Porthos’ mouth quirked and he raised a hand to lower Aramis’ drawn bow. “These two are with me,” he said.

“Really?” d’Artagnan asked skeptically. He inspected the somewhat motley pair as they made their way up the side of the mountain to the keep. One was a slender but strong-looking blonde woman in a dress with a bustle entirely constructed of feathers; the other was a man who was both darker and slighter than Porthos with a scimitar tucked into his belt.

Anne lowered her own bow as Porthos climbed halfway down the mountainside to greet their new friends, wrapping the man in a bear hug- hah- and kissing the woman’s hand. She swatted at him, smirking. Porthos guided them the rest of the way inside while his lovers and d’Artagnan followed from a skeptical distance.  

“Who are these people, exactly?” Treville asked when they were presented to him.

He had started drumming his tail on stone floor again. To their credit, Porthos’ friends looked only a little intimidated when the ground around them began to shake.

“Friends. From my… previous career.”

Treville snorted. “I see.”

D’Artagnan settled next to Constance and tugged her toward him protectively. “Are those pirates?” he hissed.

Porthos heard him and grinned. “They were on my crew once. They’ve both got ships of their own, now.” He looked very proud of his friends- although no more than d’Artagnan thought they looked of themselves.

“That’s lovely,” Constance said. “But how does it help us, exactly?”

“You want to get rid of our guests without killing ‘em, yeah?”

“Yeah,” d’Artagnan agreed slowly.

“Well, how do you think most pirate ships get their crews?” Porthos asked. “Asking politely?” At d’Artagnan’s expression, Porthos chuckled. “It’s called impressing.”         

“Is it legal?” Constance whispered.

Porthos laughed even louder.

*   *   *

The man was called Charon, and he explained to their prisoners’ predicament to them. Their choices, as he saw it, included returning to their employer and probably being executed for failing to kill their targets three whole times, being eaten by a dragon, or getting solid employment with food and lodgings and a cut of the spoils from whatever ships they helped take. Put like that, it wasn’t actually all that strange that most of the brigands agreed to go with him without a fuss.

He looked them all over, occasionally picking one well-muscled and grimy form out of the crowd and saying, “One of yours, Flea.”

Flea- the blonde woman- would pause in the midst of flirting enthusiastically with Porthos in order to give a similar speech to these people- who d’Artagnan gathered were women. Apparently, Flea captained a ship with an entirely female crew. In the end, only five were divided into Flea’s group- but she didn’t seem disappointed by this outcome. She was, in fact, particularly interested in the brigands’ leader, who was still unconscious.

“Careful of this one, Flea,” Porthos said. “She worked for Richelieu particular.”    

“I’m always careful,” Flea replied, smiling at Porthos like a cat with a bird between its teeth.

Aramis kept glaring at her like thought he might be able to make her combust with the power of his mind. Athos just smirked.

*   *   *

Flea and Charon took their leave before night fell. D’Artagnan and the others planned to return to the city in the morning, and so spent a quiet and contemplative night, d’Artagnan and Constance in one room and Athos, Aramis and Porthos in the other.

When d’Artagnan woke in the morning, Treville was already gone. He and Constance got their gear together and headed into the main hall, where the other three were already saying their goodbyes to Queen Anne. Aramis kissed her hand, Porthos just bowed to her until she hugged him, and she and Athos shared tiny but sincere smile.

Anne hugged Constance hard and kissed her cheek. “Good luck,” she whispered before doing the same to d’Artagnan.

“Where’s Treville?” d’Artagnan asked her, not sure if he wanted to see him or not.

“Hunting,” she told him. “He was busy this morning.”

“Doing what?” Constance asked.

“Helping me fill that up.” Anne beckoned. She led them to the edge and pointed. The wagon their attackers had brought with them was in front of the mountain. All the siege materials had been unloaded, and it was instead filled with paintings, books, bolts of expensive fabric, and probably all the gold and jewels left in the mountain. “Something to prove to my husband that you were here.”

“What will we do with it?” d’Artagnan asked.

Anne dimpled fetchingly. “You’ll think of something,” she said.    

*   *   *

The first leg of the trip back was so easy it made d’Artagnan suspicious.

When they returned to Ninon’s house Fleur was waiting for them outside. “You’re back,” she said, sounding so relieved that d'Artagnan was sure his suspicions had been warranted, and beckoned them inside the cottage.

Ninon was there, bent over a book. “Good,” she said, when she saw them. She smiled, but her eyes were as tired as d’Artagnan had ever seen them. Aramis and Porthos filed in behind Athos, and when Ninon saw them her face softened, her smile growing more genuine. “Good,” she repeated, quieter that time.

Athos’ brows drew together and he crossed to her. “Are you all right?” he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder lightly.

“I’ve just been worried about you,” she said, putting her hand over his. “But I see now that you’re all right.” Her gaze took in Aramis and Porthos both. D’Artagnan noticed that Aramis was now scowling at Ninon the same way he had a Flea, and it was Porthos’ turn to look on with amusement. Ninon noticed Aramis glare and laughed softly, her whole body relaxing. She patted Athos’ hand. “I should tell you what I’ve found out.”

They all sat around Ninon’s table, and she began to explain.

“I searched for Richelieu again while you were away,” she said. “This time I learned something. I had so much trouble finding him before because he isn’t what I thought he was. He isn’t a warlock. He’s… something else. A kind of… higher demon from another realm.”

Constance nodded, and so did d’Artagnan. They had heard of such things- demons too powerful to be bound to serve another- but they had never battled one before.

Athos frowned. “In practical terms, what does that mean?”

“It means he’s both more and less powerful than we thought. More, because only getting rid of him will break his psychic hold on the king and anyone else he might still be controlling. Less, because none of his curses are his own work. He doesn’t have the same powers as a witch or a warlock and must have been using premade curses on all of you.  Everything else is more manipulation than raw power."

“What exactly would ‘getting rid of him’ be?” Porthos asked.

“A banishing spell,” Ninon said.  "To send him back where he came from."

“And you could do this?” Aramis asked. Judging by his tone, he still didn’t love the idea that Ninon would have to come with them. Evidently, he found Athos and Ninon’s history disturbing- either that, or he was just jealous and protective by nature, though as far as d’Artagnan could see he had no reason to be.

“Yes,” she said. “Although you’d have to distract the king and his guards. Richelieu will only become more dangerous once I've allowed the connection necessary to work the spell. Keeping him out of my head will take a lot of energy and concentration, which means I won’t be able to protect myself. You’ll have to fight them off until it’s over.”

“We can do that,” Athos promised.

It was evening by then, and Ninon suggested that they rest there tonight and carry on in the morning. Wrapped around Constance, d’Artagnan rested easier than usual in the knowledge that they finally had a real plan.

“I hope this works,” Constance murmured to him, and drifted off.

“Me too,” d’Artagnan whispered against her shoulder. “Me too.”

*   *   *

When d’Artagnan woke, Ninon had already packed everything she needed- as had Fleur. “Are you sure?” Constance was asking her.

“Of course I’m sure,” Fleur replied. “You’re not going without me.”

Even Athos didn’t protest after seeing the way Fleur set her jaw and gripped Ninon’s hand, so d’Artagnan figured that they had another traveling companion whether they liked it or not. Anyway, Fleur was tougher than she looked.  

They set out.

*   *   *

The remainder of their journey was a quiet one. D’Artagnan started worrying about what would happen when they returned to the king’s court again soon enough, and he almost wished they would be attacked to give him something to do.

Athos seemed to sense d’Artagnan’s restlessness and started training him again, and he was a good deal kinder about it now that he no longer felt it vital that d’Artagnan become as good a swordsman as he was in a matter of days- but even so he was a hard taskmaster, and when they bedded down each night d’Artagnan kissed Constance and fell asleep almost the moment his head hit the ground.

But over the course of their return trip even Athos and Ninon started to get anxious. They spent a lot of time talking quietly, which meant that Aramis spent a lot of time scowling.

“What’s that about anyway?” d’Artagnan asked Porthos.

Porthos considered the question. “What did Ninon tell you?” he asked after a while. “About her and Athos?”

“That they’re old friends and that they were even engaged for a time.”

Porthos chuckled. “That’s right. And there was nothing more than friendship between them even then, and there certainly isn’t now- Aramis is just possessive. More so, now that he knows Athos just spent five years without us.”

“I understand,” d’Artagnan said.

Evidently pleased, Porthos clapped him on the shoulder.    

*   *   *

When they began to see civilization again, Porthos and Aramis hid in the cart full of treasures. There wasn’t enough room for Fleur and Ninon to join them, but Ninon said that few knew her in the city anymore. She said that she and Fleur could easily pretend to simply be traveling companions they’d met on the way home and peel away once they reached the capital and then make their way into the throne room on their own when it was time.

“Athos has told me that there is a secret passage we could use,” Ninon explained.

That was exactly what they did. Once within the city they separated, and guardsmen guided only the three who had started out on the journey into the main hall, a few pulling the cart along behind them as they went.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” d’Artagnan hissed at Athos when they were brought before the king.

Athos nodded and signed.

D’Artagnan didn’t have to know his sign language very well to know that that meant, 'It has to,' and that Athos was going to keep silent for the time being.

“Right,” d’Artagnan said.

Constance took his hand, and- as ever- it grounded d’Artagnan.  

The king sat in his throne and smiled unsettlingly at them. “You have returned,” he said.

“Yes, your majesty.” Following Constance’s lead, d’Artagnan bowed low.

“Unfortunately,” Constance picked up from him. “We did not bring the queen back with us- we could not find her.”

“What a shame,” Richelieu said, in a tone that suggested he didn’t think it was one at all. “And the dragon?”

“H- _it_ won’t be a threat any longer,” d’Artagnan said.

“Is this true?” the king asked Athos, holding his eyes.

Athos nodded once.

“Good.” The king smiled wider.

“We did not return empty handed, your majesty,” Constance added. She gestured to the cart, which had been brought in behind them.

D’Artagnan eyed her curiously. Given what hidden inside, he was surprised she would draw attention to the cart. Constance raised her eyebrows faintly and d’Artagnan understood. She was buying Ninon a bit more time to find her way to the throne room.

The king seemed pleased with the contents of the cart. Richelieu only looked bored- but, of course, he had amassed considerable wealth from the farmers and landowners of the kingdom, and doubtless considered this hardly anything to speak of.

“And you will tell me about your journey?” the king asked. “I do not leave the palace much, and I'm curious about my kingdom.”

They were spared having to think of something innocuous to tell him when Athos nudged d’Artagnan’s arm and d’Artagnan saw Ninon creeping into the throne room along the wall, Fleur behind her, from a passage normally concealed by a tapestry.

Richelieu turned, but Ninon shouted a spell and suddenly he was frozen, surrounded by a kind of eerie green smoke.  

“What is this?” the king demanded. “What are you doing?” He got quieter as he realized that his ‘advisor’ was immobilized. He tilted his head to one side, looking strangely childlike. “I remember you,” he said to Ninon.

“Yes,” she replied. “And I’m saving you, even if you don’t know it yet.”

“Kill them,” Richelieu hissed.

Ninon returned her attention to him completely and he had to turn his attention to her in turn, but the damage in some respects was already done.

At the king’s word, a dozen guardsmen- including Lebarge- converged on them.

Aramis and Porthos climbed out from beneath the cloth of gold they had been hiding under, but even so the numbers weren’t promising. D’Artagnan kept his attention on Lebarge primarily because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to function if he didn’t, and because he had not forgotten Athos’ advice from the last battle.  Lebarge’s attention seemed likewise drawn to him. Athos lingered at d’Artagnan’s side. “Have you got this?” he asked.

Lebarge blinked when he heard Athos’ voice, but he continued toward d'Artagnan. “Yeah,” d’Artagnan said.

Athos nodded once, and went to help his lovers.

When the fighting started D’Artagnan used every trick Athos had taught him, and it evened things out between himself and Lebarge somewhat- but the chaos around them was so distracting that d’Artagnan could hardly think about strategy. Ninon and Richelieu were both chanting, some kind of battle between magic user and magical creature that d’Artagnan didn’t understand at all. Athos, Aramis and Porthos were all fighting several guards at once and one or two would occasionally go flying. Constance was moving so fast that d’Artagnan couldn’t even see her, but the flash of a throwing knife now and then would let him know that she was still there.

And over the constant chanting, and the slashing and clanging and thumping of the fight, the king was shouting orders at everyone as though what he wanted them to do meant anything to anyone at this point.

In all that, d’Artagnan had forgotten Fleur entirely. But then, while blocking a blow to his head from Lebarge, he caught the flash of a green dress along the sidelines of the throne room. She had pulled aside a curtain to reveal a small vestibule, the walls lined with shelves, the shelves covered in bottles. “What are these?” Fleur shouted.

With Ninon occupied, it was Constance who looked to see what Fleur had found. “Bottled spells,” she told her, ducking under a blow from one of the guards and then punching him in the face. The guard reeled straight into one of the three men Porthos was fighting. Porthos paused to grin at Constance.  

“How do they work?”

However they worked, d’Artagnan was willing to bet they were powerful, because Lebarge was distracted enough by the interplay for d’Artagnan to give a twist of his blade and knock Lebarge's sword away.

“You break the bottle while thinking about whoever you want to curse.”

“That’s it?”

Constance shrugged and Fleur did the same. She grabbed one of the bottles off the shelf and slammed it to the floor. The guard closest to Fleur, who had been running at her, collapsed into a cursed sleep.

Richelieu made a shocked sound and Ninon’s voice got louder.

D’Artagnan tried to press his advantage, but Lebarge dodged him, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the floor.

Fleur saw this and dropped another.

To d’Artagnan’s alarm, Lebarge turned into a dragon. He was substantially smaller, thinner and more snake-like than Treville’s form- probably a different kind of dragon- but he breathed fire just as menacingly as a larger beast. D’Artagnan just managed to duck out of the way, and he half ran, half crawled to take cover behind the wagon. “Fleur,” he said through gritted teeth. “That's not entirely helping.”

“Sorry,” she replied and determinedly broke another.

Lebarge turned into a toad.

“Oh,” d’Artagnan said.

The tide changed quickly after that. Fleur turned two more guards into a rabbit and a rose respectively, and Ninon banished Richelieu in an impressive puff of red smoke. Seeing their leader so transformed, and _his_ superior gone completely, the other guards dropped their swords. The king didn’t protest. He was slumped in his chair.

Aramis got to him first.

“Is he-” Athos started.

“He’s alive,” Aramis said.

“Sometimes that happens after someone with a weak will has been enspelled for so long,” Ninon said. She looked like she was thinking about collapsing herself. “He should wake when he’s… ready.” Porthos caught her on her way down.

Aramis abandoned the king to go to her, though he looked as thought he did so a little grudgingly. “Are you all right?” he asked.    

“Just drained,” Ninon said, smiling tiredly. “He was quite powerful.” She slumped back against Porthos’ chest. “Have I mentioned how glad I am that you two are all right? He must have been… so lost without you.” Porthos squeezed her hand and even Aramis looked touched, but both of them backed off when Fleur reached them, letting her be the one to fuss over Ninon. They joined Athos in trying to rouse the king from his slumber.  

Constance picked up Lebarge and carried him over to d’Artagnan. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You didn’t get a chance to-”

“It’s fine,” d’Artagnan said. He had wanted to challenge Lebarge, yes- but that was before Athos had trained him, before he had found out that Athos was only doing so in case d’Artagnan had to kill him in order to save the queen. After that, he’d rather lost his interest in duels to the death. “Really. As long as we’re all all right, I don’t care about that anymore.”

He examined the little toad cradled in Constance’s hands. “Besides,” he added. “I think he’ll suffer enough.”

Athos frowned. “Will he stay like that?”

“Unless his true love kisses him, absolutely,” Ninon said.

They all had a good laugh imagining the likelihood of that. Constance put Lebarge down and helped d’Artagnan up.

Slowly, the king opened his eyes. He looked at his three best guardsmen in confusion. “What happened?” he asked.

No one wanted to be the first to start explaining.

*   *   *

When he was no longer being manipulated by the forces of evil, the king proved to be a kind- if still easily led- sort of man. By mutual agreement they did not tell the king that his queen was actually still alive- but they did convince him that Richelieu was responsible for the destruction the farms and villages in the kingdom, and for all the other ills that dragon was commonly blamed for. When Ninon advised it, the king even cheerfully made it totally illegal to attack or so much as menace the dragon. He repurposed the funds that Richelieu had had in his personally treasury to repair as many of the damaged farms and villages as possible. He even gave all seven of them royal medals that no one had ever received before. 

So all was well that ended well, as they say. Charlotte- the noblewoman who d’Artagnan and Constance had saved back at the beginning of all of this- had even come to the city to make sure her rescuers had gotten their reward, and she and the king had taken an instant liking to each other, which they concluded Anne would approve of.

There were balls and feasts all week, and d’Artagnan and Constance stayed, but once Ninon and Fleur took their leave and went back to their cottage, d’Artagnan began to feel he and Constance were outstaying their welcome.

So he and Constance started talking about where they were going next.

*   *   *

“What are you doing?”

D’Artagnan looked up from checking his saddlebags and found Athos leaning in the doorway of the room that d'Artagnan had been sharing with Constance. “I’m getting ready to leave,” d’Artagnan answered. “Constance and I did what we promised and now it’s time to go. She’s in the market buying supplies, and I’m packing.”

“You could stay,” Athos told him quietly.  

“We could,” d’Artagnan agreed. “But this place isn’t really… us. Yes, Constance and I have always talked about settling down- but if we did it definitely wouldn’t be in a place like this, and anyway it just… it wouldn’t be right. We’ve always done what we do because we hate to think of all the people who will always be out there, needing our help, but we won’t be there because we’re- what?  Too busy milking cows and selling the results at market?”

“We could go with you,” Athos said.

“What?” D’Artagnan was convinced that he couldn’t possibly have heard what he had- for a moment- thought he’d heard.

“What Athos means to say-” Aramis said, popping into the doorway at Athos’ side and startling d’Artagnan almost as much as Athos’ words had- “Is that with Treville gone and Lebarge... indisposed, the king’s guards are currently without a leader and Athos is afraid the king will be pick him.” He smiled fondly at Athos.

“He is the obvious choice,” d’Artagnan pointed out.

Athos winced.

“Exactly,” Porthos said, appearing on Athos’ other side. By that point, d’Artagnan considered himself quite immune to being startled. “But if you think about it, the three of us can solve all of your problems.”

“You can?” d’Artagnan asked skeptically.

“Oh yes.” Aramis stepped into the room and slung his arm around d’Artagnan’s shoulders. “See, we don’t think that you and Constance are actually as noble as all that.” He steered d’Artagnan away from his bags and into the center of the room as he spoke.

“We don’t doubt you want to help people,” Athos said, putting up a hand to placate d’Artagnan before he could protest.

“But we also think you like what you do,” Porthos said.

“So maybe you want to keep doing it for a while,” Aramis said jovially. “There’s nothing wrong with that. But you also do want to retire eventually.”

“I did say that,” d’Artagnan grumbled.

“But you feel like you can’t,” Aramis continued. “Because you think you have a duty.”

“I guess?”

“But imagine we came with you,” Porthos picked up, crossing to stand on d’Artagnan’s other side. “I think we’ve already proven that the five of us make a pretty good team. We could get to know your contacts, understand what you do a little better.”

“And then,” Athos said, settling in front of d’Artagnan, “when you and Constance do find a place where you’d like to settle down, you can do that.”

“And we can take over for you,” Aramis said, beaming.

“So you won’t have to worry about all those poor people being sacrificed to demon god-kings because you aren't around to rescue them, because _we_ will be,” Porthos finished.

D’Artagnan frowned. “What happens when you three want to retire?”

“We’ll find someone else to take over the same way,” Athos said.

D’Artagnan thought about that, and he had to admit that it was an attractive prospect. “All right,” he said at last. “But we’ll have to ask Constance what she thinks.”

“Silly,” Aramis said, ruffling d’Artagnan’s hair.

“We already did,” Porthos said, and chuckled. After a moment d’Artagnan followed suit, and even Athos laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and visit me on [tumblr](http://potentiality-26.tumblr.com/) if you wish.


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